Silver
by Crowded Angels
Summary: Before she was invited to the prime-time, she had led a somewhat isolated life; on the air at 4pm and living for those economy convention 'ragers'. Mac brought her into something where she wasn't just speaking to her peers, but could speak to people who could make a difference on the floor-level.


For CSIAngel, who is very persistent... ;)x

* * *

The newsroom had been plunged into darkness a few hours earlier, an almost symbolic gesture due their epic fuck up and the fact that they were trying to decide who had fucked up the most and was to march up to Leona to the tune of the Chopin's Funeral March.

When Don slipped from Will's office well into hour three, the glow of computer monitors radiating from Sloan's office was a peculiar beacon. He stared for a moment, unsure whether to go up and check on her or leave her be. She had excused herself a while earlier and never returned, her absence not really noticed considering the topic of conversation between himself, Will, Mac, Charlie and Elliot was how to rectify, rescue and re-establish News Night, if at all possible.

He grabbed the sheath of papers he had been sent for from Tess' desk and swung back through the door into Will's office as he and Mac were beginning to raise their voices. Passing the papers to a glistening-eyed Elliot (Charlie's supply of whisky was being steadily depleted), he mouthed he'd be back.

He took the steps two at a time up to the second level, regretting it when the warmth of alcohol sloshed in his stomach. She was reclined back in the chair, her feet up on the desk and a hand seemingly aimlessly moving the mouse. Her other hand was circled around a tumbler nestled between her crossed legs, a bottle of damn good scotch on the desk.

"Hey," he said, letting the door close behind him as he sat in the chair opposite her.

"Hey, how is it down there?"

"Peachy keen. Will's setting up the karaoke and Mac and Charlie are going to duet."

A flicker of a smile graced her lips.

"Where'd you get that?" He gestured to the bottle.

"I swiped it from Charlie's office."

He waited until the liquid had reached her lips before he announced, "You know that's a $300 bottle of scotch, right?"

She choked, pulling the glass from her lips with wide eyes and an extra cough when the whisky burned at her throat. She looked at the bottle - a good chunk of it already in her belly - and shrugged, "I probably owe him a few bottles of the stuff already, what's one more?"

He laughed as she took another drink, raising the glass in salute.

She settled back into the chair as Don lifted his legs to the desk, mirroring her stance. "What's going to happen, Don?"

"I don't know. Mac's still saying she has to resign. Will is still trying to resign before her, and Charlie's saying loudest that he's resigning. It's like 'I am Spartacus' but with guilt and single malt."

She would have usually smiled at the reference, but they were talking about Will, Mac and Charlie. Before she was invited to the primetime, she had led a somewhat isolated life; on the air at 4pm and living for those economy convention 'ragers'. Mac brought her into something where she wasn't just speaking to her peers, but could speak to people who could make a difference on the floor-level. She could insight the voting public, the 'regular joes', into changing policies and questioning their government with three-to-five minutes, five days a week; and because of Jerry _fucking _Dantana, she could be back to solo shifts with just her and a camera guy and a smile hello to whoever's left in the hallway.

Maybe she should resign too? Maybe she could get that job a few blocks up again?

"…Sloan?"

"Hmm?"

"You disappeared on me there."

"I interviewed Sweeney."

"Sloan-"

"I interviewed Sweeney and I should have seen something. I should have-"

"Sloan, none of this is your fault." He pulled his legs down and leaned forward, digging his elbows into his knees. "Just like none of it is Mac's or Will's or Charlie's. Not singularly, at least. We're all to blame for trusting Dantana and not having him shadowed in his every move."

"I'm not an investigative journalist, Don. I'm an economist who talks on the TV. I-"

"-was outstanding. Considering you're not an investigative journalist."

She took a beat, "If I'd just questioned him about his past some more-"

"-And if Charlie hadn't fired that asshat's kid; and if Jim hadn't gone on the Romney tour and if Mac hadn't brought Dantana up from DC. Everyone on the Genoa team has 'ifs', Sloan, and not one of them means a damn thing or would have made a damn bit of difference. Jerry tampered with raw footage and made his own story. He had a hard-on for the government and we're the ones who got screwed."

She sighed, "I really want to punch that guy."

"Get in line, lady."

She smiled, taking another gulp of ridiculously expensive scotch. Her eyes were pulled to the computer screen, "Romney's 'Binders full of women' quote is still going viral."

"I would have loved to have heard Taylor's take on that one," Don laughed, crossing to other side of the desk and leaning over her to read the screen. He turned to sit on the edge, his arms crossed over his chest as his eye-line was averted to his shoes.

Sloan's legs were against his thigh, warmth pressing along the length and certain nocturnal fantasies were coming to the forefront of his mind. He worried what impression she might take if he was to move so he wasn't caught out; just move back to the chair but preferably far, far away where she couldn't see him thinking about her legs wrapped around his waist.

Sloan was the one to move; she pulled her legs from the desk and he would've sworn black was white that she had made sure to keep contact with him the entire time. He felt the entire length of her leg smooth against his before she planted her feet on the ground and stood up.

His gaze travelled from her heeled boots up the skinny black jeans tucked inside them, over the plain marl grey tee that was loose around her hips and to those dark brown, exotic eyes that were staring straight at his. He briefly considered the smattering of freckles that were appearing from beneath the day's make-up, how she shouldn't cover them up because they made her even more beautiful.

"Don…"

He tried to think of a pithy, charming reply; something to make her smile maybe, but instead he placed his hand behind her neck and pulled her into him.

She moaned almost as soon as his lips touched hers; a sound instantly stored within his memory with a need to make her do it again. He needed to hear that sound, and every sound, every day for the rest of his life; never mind feeling her hands fist his shirt at his waist or press her entire body against his.

_Fucking hell._

_Jesus Christ. _

_Jesus fucking hell Christ._

She was perfect. She was everything he had imagined all those times and yet the fantasies didn't come anywhere near to the real thing. He brought his other hand to the small of her back, crushing her against him as she slid her tongue against his.

"We shouldn't do this," she breathed through red lips.

Every breath left his body. "No. Right. Football players."

"What?"

"You could have your pick of the entire NFL/AFL roster, I-"

"Don, I meant we shouldn't do this _now. _Here. When our friends are deciding who should be the one to quit down there."

"Oh…"

"We should definitely pick this up afterwards at my place."

"We should?"

"Un-unless…"

"No! No 'unless'. Definitely no 'unless'."

"You sure there, Keefer?" she smirked at the vigorous shaking of his head.

He snaked his hand from her hip to the small of her back and pulled her back into him with a jolt. "Oh, I'm sure." He kissed her again; his tongue sliding against hers in playful promise. She breathed his name with the slightest moan of frustration when he pulled away and he suddenly couldn't care less about any event from the last few months. He wanted the grab her hand and pull her into the nearest cab until they were at her place and doing everything he had ever thought about doing with her.

She took a breath, collected herself and stepped away from him. It was too dangerous to be that close to him; especially when her brain was telling her to just sweep everything off the desk she shared with Grant and fuck him right there.

"We need to go back downstairs."

He nodded, raking his hands through his hair and over his face. "Your place?"

"My place."

"Alright," He crossed the small office and held the door open for her.

She ran a finger over her lips and smoothed out her hair, leading the way back to Will's office.


End file.
